A life with and without choice.

Early memories Part 1

Everyone has early memories that are forged in the days before full consciousness develops. Photographs and parents stories help to fill in the gaps and unknown. Yet these are memories from another persons point of view. So the full memory is pieced together, then as age and understanding develops so the memories become more clear and complete.

Jo remembered playing in the street with the neighbours. The greatest treasure to have possession of was the push chair with its precious cargo of babies. Not that Jo often gained this as one of the youngest they had to follow the narrative dictated by the older children. Not that Jo worried about that. The fascination in the virtual world that was so real for them all pushed the imagination each day.

The other strong memory was of trips to town. Visits to the hospital took a long time and often Jo would sleep and be woken or carried from the train. The joy of rising from the subterranean passages to see father waiting for them in the tile lined routes on the way back to the surface to join them in the appointment always made their heart race and a big hug and if lucky being lifted up for a full hug in their strong arms. Knowing that whatever happens that day they are protected and cared for. Walking hand in hand when possible along the tree lined pavement and across a garden square with the massive park benches they often sat on to rest and get some fresh air away from the hospital.

Some visits would allow a ride on the full size rocking horses, others would be started with curling up on a warm lap and sleeping as illness consumed the energy and they just rested waiting to see what was wrong. The tests were never pleasant, although some had become so normal that just getting them done and dusted meant some relaxation before any new tests and procedures could follow. The routine of visits. Waiting in the large tiered square for your name to be called by a strict and sometime severe looking nurse often brought the fear to the surface and a tear to the eye. Today a smiling junior nurse greeted them and Jo walked at the front of the small group. Into the smaller corridor and the lines of chairs on either side of the corridor. The right hand side for the consultant, the left hand side for the routine tests. So off to the left they sat and waited again. Then Jo's name is called again and ushered into the room with curtains pulled back. The efficient nurses lifting Jo onto the bed. Then swiftly telling them what will happen. 'Are you familiar with this?' They ask. A nod and the hope that they will be more gentle with the tests. In later years Jo would complete these themself, but not yet.

No need to dwell on this, the test happens. It stings, sometimes gentle hands and comforting other time sharp words of 'Come along now, no need for that.' The samples taken away and then they are sent back to the corridor. Jo isn't sure when Mum was no longer allowed in to help, or why that change had happened. So they return to the seats for a hug just to be sent out to the larger waiting area while the tests are run. 

'Time for a drink and some food? Are you hungry Jo?' Asked Mum.

'No.' Never hungry, especially after that, but a drink of cold milk is never refused.

Once the adults finish their hot drinks Jo is getting bored and wanting to see if any new activity or toys have been put in the sunken play area of the enormous square waiting room. The milk has done its trick, for now.

Drawing is the only place that is empty. Jo takes some paper and begins with enthusiasm. Then a gentle hand shakes Jo awake. Resting their head on the hardly drawn picture they had just fallen asleep and missed their name being called.

Walking through to the right hand seats this time is so slow. Heavy feet and aching limbs are joined with pain through the body. They sit and wait. Jo sits between their parents and soon curls up on their seat and rests a sleepy head on a welcoming lap. A warm hand slowly rubs their lower back. So soothing and nice, and sleep returns.

The nurse calls them in then waits for the consultant to either pass instructions or tell her to leave. This time Mum and the nurse help Jo to undress and lay on the bed. Mum stays holding Jo's hand. The consultant is speaking but Jo is in a fog of confusion and sleep. The words drift over and through Jo.

 'Another infection,    Let me have a look.' Warm hands touch Jo and it hurts and aches and makes them arch their body.

'Yes, just a few days. Observation and tests.'

'New things?'

'Well yes, it will let us see if things are working.'

Who says what is missed by Jo. But the anxiety and worry in the room is clear. The tension is passing onto Jo who sniffs and continues to drift in and out of sleep and consciousness.